Thursday evening, I had just left work at the mall. Thursday nights are college nights, so I changed quickly at the dorm and headed off to one of the favorite hang outs for my set. It was a fairly large sports bar just off campus.
Of course, two things were in the offing. First, as usual, I was carded. I would have no blue plastic wrist band that would allow me to enjoy the libations I preferred. Second, it was, after all, Spring Break. The last place to find any fun during Spring Break is in a college town.
The five bucks I paid to get in the place merely bought me an opportunity to drink a Coke in near solitude. Great. Just what I had hoped.
In thirty minutes, I was out of the place. My car pointed in the general direction of the sleazy titty bar at the edge of town. On the way, I stopped to get gas at a stop and rob. As I was paying, the slip of paper containing "Daddy's" phone number dropped from my wallet.
Even though the clerk could have absolutely no idea what was on the paper or anything about my little secret, I felt myself turn a bright shade of red, as I quickly plucked the paper from the floor and left.
Back at my car, I started to slip the number back into my wallet, but paused. I held it in my hand looking at it. "Daddy," it read. Below that was the number. Almost in a haze, I slipped my cell phone from my console and punched up the number. After a few rings, a male voice, his voice, said that "Jim" was not available. I ended the call without leaving a message.
A few minutes later, I found myself cruising the parking lot at the adult bookstore looking for that BMW from whence the slip of paper, still sitting on my passenger seat, had come. It was not there. I turned back out onto the street and headed for the titty bar.
As I was about to enter the establishment, my cell phone went off. Looking at the screen, I saw the number for Daddy that I had just called minutes later. Stepping around the corner past the weathered door, the wind whipping my ever growing blond hair about my face, I answered.
"Hello. This is Jim. I'm just returning your call." The voice was Daddy's alright, but it was a professional tone. It was Daddy's work voice, obviously.
Not knowing what to say or how else to identify myself, I paused before replying. "This is your baby boy, Daddy." My heart was beating a mile a minute, as I waited for his reply.
"Oh, my baby boy, huh? I was just thinking about you today, baby." Daddy's voice had changed.
Gone was the professional tone. Replacing it was a tone very near the one I had heard, as his cock had pushed in and out of my tight asshole weeks before.
"You have?" I asked, trying to make my voice sound sexy. I had never tried to sound sexy to another man, so I was not all that certain that it came off well. "What have you been thinking, Daddy?"
"Nasty things, Baby Boy. Very nasty things. I have been thinking about those soft lips of yours slipping over my cock, for one." In my mind's eye, I saw him rubbing his hard cock through his trousers, as he sat behind a desk somewhere. My own cock was throbbing, as I stood outside in the chill wind outside the door to the topless bar where they don't card. "Where are you?"
Chuckling softly, I replied, "Just outside a hole-in-the-wall titty bar. I'm freezing my ass off." That was no lie; the wind was now coming in from due north.
"A titty bar, eh?" Daddy's voice trailed off. "Which one, baby?" I dutifully offered the name of the place and the cross streets nearby. Jim told me that he had some things to take care of at the office, but he would be done soon. He would meet me there in about an hour.
The hour dragged even though I was surrounded by women in various forms of undress. I was buzzing pretty decently, when I saw Daddy enter. Daddy was in a dark suit. His tie was loosened. Spying a possible good tipper, a large breasted blond whose stage name was "Ginger" latched onto Jim, as he made his way to my table in the back.
Ginger was probably the hottest dancer there, which meant she had never given me, a cash-strapped college guy, the time of day.
Sitting across from me, as Ginger sat to my right, Daddy smiled, as he said loud enough to be heard over the music, "Hey, Baby Boy, this is my new friend, Ginger." She held out her small hand. Her perfume wafted over me, as I shook it gently.
Close up, she was even more stunning than she had been on stage. She was dressed in a tight, sequined blue dress that was so short that the crotch of her white g-string was glowed between her tanned, muscular legs, as she crossed them. I looked over at Jim inquisitively, and he winked in reply.
"So, should I just call you 'Baby Boy' or what?" Ginger asked, smiling. I noted that she had shifted her chair closer to Jim. I had not seen her do it. Even given my lack of experience with such matters, I was impressed with her subtlety in doing so. Ginger was a pro, I thought. "You can call me anything you like," I smiled back. "But my name is Barry."
"Anything I like? Really?" A wicked glimmer danced in her eyes. "What if I call you Baby Boy, too?"
I glanced over at Jim, who was laughing and shaking his head. "Like I said," I answered with a self-conscious grin, "Anything you like." A waitress brought a round of drinks for us. Daddy produced a credit card. "This night is on me, Baby Boy." He ran his tongue over his upper lip out of view of Ginger, as he did so. As his left hand slipped the card to the waitress, a glint of Jim's watch caught my eye. It was a Rolex. Just who was this guy? I pondered that, as I sipped my beer.
We spent a couple of hours there. Jim must have spent hundreds of dollars in that time, as our table was absolutely inundated with strippers. He bought us lap dance after lap dance. He seemed to enjoy watching me get them more than he enjoyed receiving them. During a short period where he and I were alone, he leaned in and whispered, "I want that dick good and hard, Baby Boy."
It was just after Midnight when we left the place. I was not wasted, but I was feeling no pain. I followed Jim to an apartment complex downtown. He had been very careful to keep a distance from me, I noted. As we were about to enter his apartment, I asked, "Where's your wife?"
"She is at home. I live out at my lake house. I just keep this apartment for when I have to 'work late'." He replied. Once inside the apartment, any distance I had felt from Jim closed. Closing the door, his eyes betrayed that need. That very same hunger I had seen in Mark's eyes all that time ago. "Come here, baby."
